A Mild Flirtation
by Leila Winters
Summary: A chance encounter with a woman on a train interrupts Saitou's habitual people watching...but how much credit does chance truly deserve? Oneshot. Mild Saitou/Tokio.


_**Writer's note:**_ this oneshot came to me in the form of a line of dialogue and a sentence-long story premise while I was at my desk processing paperwork. The story expanded in a completely surprising way when I sat down to write. It _could _be expanded into a larger story, but I don't think I'll write it. That would be explaining too much. I rather like it left to the imagination.

I actually wrote this forever ago…LAST DECEMBER to be more precise, but had marked two sentences as needing revising and forgot about it. Just found it again today (ironic because I've been carrying it with me everyday all this time). In the middle of writing another one-shot…

And wow. It's been almost two years since I last uploaded something. Even longer since I've played with Saitou/Tokio. Hope you enjoy.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_**A Mild Flirtation**_

By Leila Winters

He detested crowded cars. Try as he might to avoid the rush, there were times even he could not shirk the press of bodies huddled into one solid, squirming mass. What only grated endlessly on his nerves was the knowledge that the first thing he reached for when he left the station was a pack of cigarettes tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Saitou Hajime did not enjoy having his vices sneer so smugly at him.

Thus, to avoid having to admit non-combative human contact unnerved him, he simply avoided taking the train during busy hours and built his entire schedule around dodging the populace he was reluctantly sworn to protect.

Many days, he just planned to walk.

A lot.

It was good for him anyway.

But there were other days he just wanted to be home, in the stillness of his empty apartment.

He was in a fairly foul mood this night. He'd finally gotten the guy he'd been looking for for the past four months—a radical leader of an apolitical group who'd resorted to arson when his message hadn't gotten the media coverage he felt they deserved. He'd gone underground, much to the frustration of the authorities. But he'd slipped. Hiding out had various disadvantages—paranoia, boredom, isolation, eccentrism. One had only to follow the trail of where a suspect might seek to assuage the sudden absence in sexual outlets…particularly when one had such _unusual _habits as this one had.

Why anyone would need a tank that big full of cuttlefish was beyond Saitou.

And though he should at least have been a little satisfied at locking away the man who'd thoughtlessly caused the death of three respectable citizens—one of whom had been on crutches and unable to get out in time—he was only irritated at being forced to fill out so much godforsaken paperwork. The plus side was that it had kept him well beyond the train's busiest hours and though he'd rejected the celebratory invite to the local bar, he still barely made the last train of the night.

There were more people than he expected, but still plenty of empty seats. Perhaps everyone was celebrating a little something tonight.

Saitou Hajime chose to stand. He found a bit of wall to lean a shoulder against near the door and tried to rid himself of the day's aggravating grind and further burning questions regarding the cases of everyone else in the suspect's faction.

An old man in a worn, earthy-toned tweed suit played with a tattered brown hat in his lap. He looked like he'd been riding the train a long time and was avoiding going home. If there was a home to go to.

A tired-looking woman in formal catering attire patted the head of a little girl in pink tights sleeping against her side. She was clutching the child's brown stuffed bear in one hand and staring at it as if it held all the answers.

He pulled out a cigarette and played with it, rolling it between the pads of his fingers and flipping it over his knuckles to keep his eyes and thoughts away from the other passengers' personal lives.

Just as the train was approaching the next station, a woman in a muted skirt suit rose and made her way to the doors just beyond him, eyes cast to the floor in the usual unassuming, everyone-else-is-invisible fashion. Her fat-heeled one-inch pumps made only soft patterings with each footfall.

When the doors opened, she stepped past him.

It wasn't until the warning chimed and the doors had hissed shut that he realized she was still there. He felt the whisper of her presence at his back when she adjusted her hold on her purse. Suddenly, he felt her acutely. The fabric of the sleeve of her suit jacket brushed against the back of his.

He looked over his shoulder at her smaller figure. She was snuggled between himself, the door, and part of the wall, staring unobtrusively at the floor, clutching the shoulder strap of her purse meekly. She pointedly ignored his glance.

His eyes searched the car again. Old man, brown suit, fidgeting with tweed hat. Caterer and sleeping child. Glossy-lipped girl and sweater-vested boyfriend. Tipsy businessman, coffee-stained tie. Three college-aged individuals seemingly together, two males, one female—all in jeans, one texting on a cell phone, two talking quietly. Two males, mid-twenties, one in a black hoodie, jeans, and dark beanie, the other in a graphic red hoodie, jeans, and a Hanshin Tigers cap—their lips moving conspiratorially, eyes focused mostly on the ground but coming up at intervals to scan the car and look in his direction.

He had no idea how he always attracted the surreptitious, curious glances usually reserved for foreigners, but he figured it had to be more than just his unusual height. His body was long and his face made up of sharp angles with thin lips and narrow, but sharp, pale eyes. He was always a little odd-looking, which may account for his aversion to the politely curious masses who always pretended not to be looking.

So he was a little tall.

The better to see perps weaving through crowds with, my dear.

Another backward glance told him she was being cautious, not scared. But how she'd managed to figure out he was a cop when he'd changed out of his uniform at the station wasn't making the proper cognitive connections. He did not exactly exude an air of approachability, so he found it difficult to believe she'd chosen him by chance…

…then again, it might be the very air of his inapproachability that was the deciding factor in her choice.

But how did she know he wasn't the greater of two evils?

He stole another glance at the two men muttering softly to each other before looking once more at the profile of the woman's face. It was the line of her eyebrow that looked familiar first. Then it was the set of her lips.

His brow furled. His lips scrunched.

Perhaps…

He once more turned his back to her and ignored her while he stewed over details. If he was right…

Instead of disembarking a stop earlier as was his custom, he waited. Only the old man, the two men in hooded sweatshirts, and the woman and himself remained. When the doors slid open for his stop, he paused at the woman's shoulder and—keeping his eyes focused ahead of him—murmured in a low tone, "Coming? You'd better stick with me."

Her shoulders lowered in relief. She stepped onto the platform ahead of him and led the way up the station stairs. He followed her movements, a looming, silent shadow. When they emerged onto the street level, she turned in the direction of his apartment.

A quarter of a block behind, the two men followed.

She cast a nervous glance in their direction.

"A little late for you to be out, don't you think?" he asked, more to keep her distracted than out of any real curiosity.

Her eyes remained downcast. "Japan is supposed to be a safe place with little crime."

He chuckled softly to himself. "Even good people will surprise you with what they're capable of if they believe they can get away with it."

He stopped in front of his building and lit his worn cigarette. "You live on the next block, right? Go on ahead. They won't follow you."

She seemed reluctant to go at first, then bowed politely and continued on her way, her gaze lingering on his face.

Saitou stayed where he was, puffing away at his cigarette and watching the silhouette of her figure grow smaller. He eyed the approaching duo.

"Whatcha lookin' at, old man??"

These guys were a joke.

"What brings you gentlemen out at this hour?" he drawled at them in what could have been construed as a friendly manner. For him.

The one in red made a crude gesture and barked, "Get the fuck lost, asshole!"

Saitou dropped his cigarette and stepped on the glowering ember. "You boys _really _don't want to keep walking in that direction." He bared his canines in a deadly sneer and took a step forward.

One held fast, the other took a step back. No longer with the support of his accomplice, the first began to falter as well. And, as a last act of bravado, both cursed at him and continued walking…and turned at the corner.

The silhouette of the woman had long disappeared.

With a resigned huff, he leaned over, retrieved the smothered butt, and deposited it in the trash receptacle nearby.

The language of the body told many stories, oftentimes ones one doesn't think to tell. It whispered of a life led and offered glimpses of a character developed. It breathed insecurities and radiated strengths. He wondered if someday he would get to hear the murmur of hers again.

And thought he would very much like to.

And then he shook his head in disbelief, shoved his hands into his pockets and went inside.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

…a few buildings over, a woman dreamed of a strong, broad back and a hot breath washing over her skin. It was the same fevered dream she'd had many nights over.

Only this time, his voice fell over her like a satin sheet.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Fin!_

**Written** 12-27-08 & 12-28-08

**Edited** 12-29-08 & 7-31-09

**Uploaded** 7-31-09


End file.
